


they'll like me when I'm sick

by billy_crash



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Damian is of age and also suffering, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Fixation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Periscope, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, Tim is just a kinky bastard, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat sex - free form, angry masturbation, not so many porn as it might look like, who needs to be loved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-03
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:38:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6051937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/billy_crash/pseuds/billy_crash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's no secret that Tim loves watching. But no one has ever cared enough to see that he ached for being watched as well.</p><p>So they didn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fifty four viewers

**Author's Note:**

> Tim discovers Periscope and does the thing. And then again. And again. And so it goes.
> 
> Damian is about 19, Tim is in his twenties, and this ship will probably end me one day.

It's no secret that Tim loves watching. If not for his little stalking habits he would never have his life the way it is now. The reason for it, though - no one has ever cared enough to ask.

Tim wouldn't be able to find the right words to explain anyway. 

It's just - he was raised up in an empty house, surrounded by painted pictures of dead people and long hallways instead of warm words and human touches. It's just - he has never known what's been so broken and wrong inside of him that even his family had never acknowledged his presence, so he tried to understand, tried to find and rationalize the sheer nature of human affection. Thought maybe he could learn how to act to deserve one.

He watched Robins flying across Gotham, he watched them fight thugs and laugh and cause a little smile on Batman's face, almost impossible to catch. He took pictures and studied them and cried above them cause he just _coud not get it_ , and his house was becoming colder and lonelier while years passed by.

Tim was too little to understand that there wasn't anything logical in the way mothers loved their children and heroes loved their cities and people touched other people like they were the most beautiful and precious in the whole world.

Tim has grown up abandoned and emotionally twisted and desperate to any kind of attention. Tim was nothing, he felt like there was no him cause nobody was watching and that has driven him in the Haly's circus, to the only man Tim has ever felt real around.

But that haven't changed the way he were when he became older and smarter and sharpened his soul to the point he really did seem like his past had no influence on him.

It's no secret that Tim loves watching. But no one has ever cared enough to see that he ached for being watched as well.

So they didn't. 

***

Now Tim knows that there is something missing inside of him. Maybe it always has been, maybe it was the fault of his not caring mother and apathetic father (you can't say bad stuff about the dead, and Tim does still mourns for his family, but he mourns for his sanity as well, and they've done plenty to make sure he had none).

The thing is, he can't be fixed.

But he is child no more and he does not want to fight it any longer. It's just the way he is, so instead he learns to use it in his advantage. It works just well and Gotham stands still and whole every time Tim is the one responsible for her.

He learns to use it for other things, as well. He learns to start a fight to gain attention. He learns to end it without his opponent understanding he was being manipulated the whole time they've engaged in fighting. 

Tim learns to act offended and edgy and frustrated. Tim learns to snap time after time so that he seemed more human, easier to read than he actually is.

Some of his act has become the part of his personality. Some of it hasn't, and now Tim has empty spots in his mind which were filled with pretending.

And so he learns how to find not only defense in his wrongness, but pleasure. 

Tim _needs_ to be watched. And he is not the only freak in the world that does the watching.

***

He learns about this app from Colin when Damian invites him over (Tim is pretty sure it was Alfred who came up with the suggestion, but Damian seems contained enough with the outcome of this, so Tim decides to let them be).

Tim just walks in the kitchen, and Colin is looking like he is about to puke, while Damian laughs his lungs out. They look at something on Colin's phone and Tim is a little curious what it is. Well, with his control issues he is more than just _a little_ curious, but he can't let himself show his weakness in front of the Demon Brat, can he?

"Oh my god, oh my god, why would they do it?" Colin mumbles, looking quite terrified.

"It's just some fried insects, stop being such a pussy," Damian grins, visibly amused.

"I live in the Narrows," Colin says, shoving Damian in the shoulder. "I think I know what an insect look like, and those monsters are no insects. Oh, oh my god, no, I can't watch, shut it down. I'd rather watch those Russian chicks dancing around in granny's underwear."

"Perv," Damian grins again, but changes the channel. That's when Tim's coffee is ready and he turns around with a cup in his hands. 

"Are you watching porn in our kitchen?" he asks, aiming at Damian's chastity. That works just well.

"Why in hell would I do such thing?" Damian answers immediately, his ears suddenly so red that Tim purposefully giggles at him. Damian scowls. "Stop making those girly sounds, Drake, this is insufferable. That's just a stupid app Colin found online, for god's sake."

"Yeah," Colin agrees, not looking even a little embarrassed (Tim honestly likes the kid). "There're video streams of a bunch of people all around the world doing random stuff for, like, hours. Most of it is dumb, but some are really fun to watch."

"Hm," Tim says.

"Though there is porn there, too," Colin grins and Damian looks at him with utter dread in his eyes.

"Aren't you supposed to be the religious one?" he asks, looking betrayed, but Colin just laughs.

"Well, you can believe in God and enjoy yourself still. I've never claimed to be saint, you know," Colin says with a smirk, and Damian hides his face in his palms, growling:

"Shut up. Just shut the hell up."

"Well, and though I'm no fan of religion, Catholic themed porn tends to be pretty hot," Tim adds, enjoying the way Damian seems even more embarrassed. "You should really watch one, brother."

"Go away, _will you_?" Damian asks him not so nicely, a threat visible in his eyes, but it's not scary at all considering the whole of Damian's face being red right now.

"Oh, so you did watch one?" Tim teases, leaving the counter and heading into the hallway.

Damian throws something in him, but Tim easily dodges the hit, not so gracefully Dick would have, of course, but still effectively.

Damian swears in Arabic, Colin giggling in the same time like a mad person.

Tim goes upstairs, satisfied with the outcome of their little verbal battle (which he has _totally_ won, by the way).

And he doesn't think about the app or anything else except his nightly routine, preparing for patrol, which promises to be hard with Crane flying free again.

It is. And so becomes Tim, when he lies in his bed afterwards, tired as hell and not being able to move a finger without dull pain striking through his nerves.

But Tim can't fall asleep either, so he lets his mind wander and somehow a couple of minutes after he is biting his lip hard and panting and arching in his fist to the simple thought of doing something like this on camera, for anyone to see, to want him, to desire him. That is overwhelming, his fingers are clenching tight on his cock to the point it almost hurts, and Tim comes, his face pressing hard in the pillow, mouth open wide and wet, knees giving up, while his back arches up the bed in a ridiculous curve Tim hasn't considered himself capable of.

He is breathless for a while, his mind blissfully blank and he can't bring himself to think about what the hell has just happened. 

But he knows for sure he felt beautiful and needed for that one delusional moment, more than ever in his life. 

***

It's not like he jumps in this idea immediately - this has never been the way he did things. 

At first it's not even an idea - just the thought that keeps him distracted enough from the dullness of board meetings and boring nights in front of the Cave computers when Babs needs some her time away from _them, dumbasses_.

It's the thought that gets him off harder than anything in his life, until it's not. 

Tim knows sex can be intoxicating, but he has never experienced the truth of this statement before. Yeah, he had a few partners, but it just never was that good. As for now, though... Well, Tim is almost desperate to feel this way again.

So he does what he always does, whether it's some important vigilante shit or washing the dishes. Tim starts researching.

He downloads the app, spends solid amount of his time analyzing it's content and the way people behave there. He learns what works and what does not, what is desirable by the audience and what is not. Tim learns how to make a stream successful in a week, but that is not what he desires from it.

He jerks off whenever he finds a channel with people doing extremely explicit stuff - not because they turn him on, but because he imagines himself in their places.

It's not satisfying enough, though. Tim does not have the courage to make a translation of his own yet, but there are other things for him to do while his mind is getting comfortable with this thought than just studying the environment.

He turns on the frontal camera on his phone one night, not recording or anything, just discovering best angles he can manage sitting in front of it. Dim light is better than bright one and his neck looks stunning if he turns the laptop to lighten his pale skin. He looks hotter with his clothes on than he does naked, unless he is really aroused and his chest is flushed, nipples bright red and swollen. 

And his mouth, well. His mouth appears to be so fucking pretty that Tim bites his lips and licks them for minutes, just a hint of his wet tongue and sharp teeth, and the sight of it is enough for him to come almost without touching himself.

And then Tim gathers the come with his fingers, spreads it over his lips, making them slick and shiny, and seeing it on small screen of his phone is nearly enough for him to get hard again.

He makes the recording, some nights after that. He feels so obscene while at it that it doesn't take him long to reach his climax. 

Tim watches the video then in the dark of his room with his earphones on so he can hear all the little sounds he makes while pleasuring himself. He feels hot under his skin, shivering after every breathless gasp or quiet restrained moan on the recording.

It brings him confidence that doesn't go away in the daylight. And Tim feels he is ready to move further.

***

The first one is pretty simple, innocent even. Tim names his channel with just "nsfw", and sits in front of his table, only his upper body and half of his face visible. 

He is in a plaid white shirt, sleeves rolled up and some of the buttons open enough so the sliver of his skin is showing.

Tim palms himself through his jeans almost lazily and calm, just waiting for now. He tries to stay collected, but it is impossible, his heart pounding in his chest and adrenaline kicking in.

It doesn't take long - and Tim smiles nervously when comments like "is he jerking it?" and "dude sitting in front of your camera is totally safe for work" pop up.

Eleven people are watching to the moment Tim slips his hand under the thick fabric of his jeans and arches forward all of a sudden, his breath hitching in his throat, lips parting slowly.

He can't see, but he knows how it looks on their screens and he bites his cheek, trying to hold in a moan when it hits him this really is happening. 

_He is masturbating in front of some strangers and they want to look at him doing it._

So Tim strokes himself - slow at first, but it feels like torture, and he squeezes his cock hard and then even _harder_ , until he is fucking into his fist, his movements rough and eager and close to violent. He stops holding his sounds, hisses brokenly each time his nails scratch sensitive skin underneath the head of his cock. His free hand is clutching at the table for a while, then flies to his throat, just barely touching the skin, until-

Until Tim can feel he is so freaking _close_ that he giggles breathlessly, laughter dying in his throat when he pressures into his skin hard enough to suffocate himself. His grip only hardens when he starts coming, and it's so intense that he almost blacks out, remembering to get his fingers away from his neck only when he tries to breath in and just _can't_.

He looks on the screen again and sees that the number of watchers has become _higher_ than when he has started. 

"Oh boy, it was hot", "what the fuck did I just watch", "I totally will jerk of on the memory of this later though" and other comments are written all over his phone. Tim turns it off quickly so he won't die of shame when the afterglow fades away.

As for now Tim tries to collect his breath, and his hands are shaking, and he sits back in his chair, smiling _wide_ all of a sudden.

He is _so_ doing it again.

***

He forgets about this (more like forces himself to forget) for a few weeks. Not because he feels bad or ashamed, no, he is not even sure he can experience such emotions.

It's because waiting makes everything so much better. And also these are really rough weeks, to say at least. 

They have to deal with Two-Face and his sad attempts to fool everybody that he did become better this time.

Considering that he tries to blow up mayor's office, he is so fucking not. Bruce and Damian take this while Tim figures out what Dent's real target has been.

It's Jason that suggests this time there are not two, but three targets. And thanks to him they manage to prevent explosion in the Gotham mall as well as in the docks. 

Two-Face is so unhappy about it that his thugs set a dozen buildings in Narrows on fire. They save every single person before the firefighters could get there, but it still takes fucking huge amount of time to clean this mess after. Bruce and Damian are busy with patrolling so it becomes Tim's duty, _of course_.

Jason helps for like _an hour_ and then he is off to space with his former teammates for some kind of reunion party. From what Tim sees on pictures Jason so nicely sends him when he is back on Earth, the party seems to have been freaking awesome.

And Tim can't feel his legs or his mind early in the morning. Sleep is off the table - there are some huge deals in Wayne Enterprises this week, so yeah. Hello, sleep deprivation, you are the only one in Tim's life that gives themselves to him without any doubts.

Tim drinks loads of black coffee, and tries to finish the new surveillance system he's been working on for last month, and tries not to miss any details on closing deals in the company, and tries not to kill this pure bastard who somehow decided it would be a great idea to hit _Red Robin_ with a _pipe_ and then tie him to a chair at some abandoned warehouse. 

He wears a black mask - _can you believe this guy_ \- and threatens to beat Tim to death if he doesn't tell him who the hell Batman is. It's the most pathetic kidnapping Tim has seen in his life, so he whispers:

"Alright, alright, I'll tell you, just come closer."

And this dickhead _does._

Tim says even quieter, so the stupidest thug ever would lean closer:

"It's Vicky Vale, buddy."

The thug seems to be offended, but, honestly, Tim doesn't have a time for this shit. So Tim hits him hard in the nose, standing up and strangling him with his own robe he thought would keep the fucking Batman trained superhero bounded.

"Don't act so surprised," Tim hisses, throwing him off to the floor. "This chick sure has her moves."

He leaves the warehouse, his knuckles raw and bloody, while the thug is lying on the floor, unconscious, tied up and with his own stinky socks in his mouth.

And Tim hears too familiar clicking of the tongue above him and looks up, annoyance written on his face already.

" _Pathetic_ ," Damian says, landing beside him gracefully. He looks hilarious in his Robin suit now, when he is almost the same height as Bruce is. But Tim still wants to beat the shit out of him for interfering, or, more accurately, not interfering.

"What part, exactly?" Tim asks so he would have the reason to hit the little (except really not so little) shit.

"You, spending the whole hour there. I would have escaped in five minutes. No, actually, in two," Damian explains _oh so kindly_ with a smug smile on his face.

Tim thinks about all the shit he has done for this family lately. Tim thinks about six - or was it five? - hours of sleep he had in last four days total cause he was busy dealing with their crap. 

"Oh, well," Tim says, smiling dangerously. "Why don't we test this delusional statement of yours, then?"

Damian looks confident enough not to move at the exact moment Tim throws himself at him. And Tim makes him pay for that - Damian expects him to fight fairly, but Tim is not in the mood for showing off.

He hits Damian with the end of his bo staff in his lower stomach, in that one spot where, he knows, Damian's suit was ripped by Killer Crock a few days ago. Tim hits hard and doesn't stop, easily dodging Damian's attempts in hitting him back.

Tim is angry and frustrated enough so he doesn't hold back, throwing blows at Damian that would be deadly if Damian was trained less.

But Tim is tired as well, so he ends up on his back in the mud, with Damian on top of him, pressing Tim's bo to his neck and blocking him ways to escape.

"What the hell was that?" Damian hisses at him. Tim closes his eyes and tries to calm the rage that has been pounding in his throat. "Street thugs have more grace and technique than you have had."

"If I were you," Tim smiles at him, ignoring that last statement, "I'd go back to the Cave to deal with the inner bleedings that will start in about a few minutes."

"Bullshit," Damian frowns.

"Yeah, well, _bite me_ ," Tim snaps, kicking him in a stomach with his knee in the exact same place he hit him earlier with a bo.

Damian swears, feeling harsh pain that shouldn't be ignored, and lets Tim go immediately.

"Just what I've thought," Tim scowls and gets up. 

His body is hurting too, but the look in Damian's face is so worth it.

"You are twisted," Damian says.

"I am," Tim agrees and yells at him as he flies away. "See you in hell, buddy!"

He doesn't feel better at all so he returns home, locks himself in his room and turns the app on, starting the translation.

And a few moments later he just starts crushing everything that is not hundreds years old in his room to pieces.

Tim swears and hits the wall with the remains of his chair and when he has no inner powers to continue he lies on his bed and jerks himself off fast and angrily, filling the room with fair amounts of "fucks" and "I will rip his throat out, I swear". 

He comes with a very loud "I SO FUCKING HATE THIS ASSHOLE", and groans, biting at his hand and laying there for a few moments before he jumps off the bed and rushes to his phone. He makes a point of licking the come of his fingers, fast and methodically, and turns it off without looking at comments.

Bruce tries to talk to him in the morning about Damian but instead just gives him the day off without questioning after a glance at his room.

"Boys," Alfred sighs, passing by.

Tim giggles at that.

***

He takes his rest (for like two days). Nobody is bringing up his emotional outburst despite Damian's attempts at it.

Tim actually feels pretty good now that most of his repressed anger is out, relaxed, even.

For like two days, either.

He is not planning on making this Periscope thing a habit of his, but it turns out to be the best way to relieve the stress, and, well. 

Tim doesn't give a shit of what it makes of him.

So that's how it goes.

***

For once, he is just sucking on his fingers and he is taking his fucking time with it. 

He starts with touching his lips and smearing the spit on his chin and cheeks, until taking two of them deep in his mouth. They lay on his tongue and Tim presses them against harder so he could imagine it is something bigger and heavier. His cheeks are hollow when he sucks on his fingers and takes them out at the same time.

And they go deeper and deeper each time; he almost _gags_ when he reaches his throat.

Tim manages to get four of them inside of his mouth and then he just kind of loses it.

His face is a mess, his throat is sore and his lips hurt, when he finishes.

His eyes never leave the screen in front of him, and he feels like a work of art, his fingers wet, slender and bitten, and his mouth red and burning, and that is what gets him the most.

Another time he feels bad and worthless and not able to do anything right, and he wraps a belt around his neck, heavy music playing from his laptop. The belt feels rough against his sensitive skin, the edges cutting in; it's harder to breath when Tim tugs on it, forcing himself to jerk his head up.

He moves to the agonizingly slow rhythm of the song, one hand holding the end of a belt and another wandering his body. The belt is tightening around his throat until Tim can't even talk and his breath is broken and his head feels lightened.

Tim knows his limits but it is really tempting to forget them in moments like this.

Control is his, but it's easy to forget about it too.

So sometimes he just sits there for hours, with the lights on, doing his work on the laptop, like nothing is about to happen. And his viewers - they wait patiently for whatever time Tim decides it would be.

Tim feels _power_ , Tim feels in control, and that is really overwhelming.

He doesn't disappoint his audience and makes everything worth waiting.

And after fights with Bruce Tim touches himself for what seems like centuries not letting himself come, squeezing the base of his cock, until he is a mess, tears in his eyes and his body full shaking. And then he is _begging_ for it, though he is the one putting himself through such torture, and his words are broken and desperate.

Until someone writes to him "you _deserve_ it". Until someone writes "you are _good_ , it's alright, just do it". Until someone writes "you can have your release", and Tim does, hiding his face in his hands and silently crying for a solid five minutes before he has the strength in him to move and turn off the translation.

Like he said - stress relief. Tim has a great imagination and he sure can figure out the ways to snap himself out of whatever sorrow he puts himself in. 

Though, the last ones? They were his least favorite.

***

After the exceptionally infuriating meeting at Wayne Enterprises Tim returns home, not changing out of his suit. He undoes his shirt and hangs his jacket casually on the chair with the camera on already. He leaves his tie hanging on his neck and tugs at it hard, parts his lips, slightly out of breath, his neck just the right shade of red and hot under his fingers. His eyes are still not visible; he wouldn't want anyone to make a sensation out of Timothy Drake-Wayne's weird sex habits. 

But this time he remembers the stubborn board members and their visible confidence that he, being this young, can't figure out all the crap they've been trying to pull behind their backs. And he remembers that he _has to_ play dumb, but it's frustrating nevertheless.

So Tim takes his tie off and blindfolds himself with it, changing the angle of the video slightly so that whole of his face would fit on it (he can't see, but he still has a clear idea of what he is doing).

Tim sits a little bit further, undoes his fly and slips his hand in his pants. They can't see it, but the position of his hand is unmistakable.

"You know," he smirks, stroking himself lazily under the fabric. "I don't give _a fuck_ about what anyone is thinking."

Usually he doesn't talk during these sessions, but this time is different. His mouth feels dirty with every obscene word leaving his lips, and Tim imagines himself in the boarding room again, doing this under the intense and somewhat terrified gazes of those old fuckers. He could, actually, but he is afraid for their permanent brain damage, so.

He shakes off his pants and underwear in one not so graceful movement and licks his fingers, clumsy and desperate, before putting them behind him. He has to bend his back a little so that the angle becomes less awkward, his wet and cold fingers brushing against his entrance, until he can put the two of them inside, pushing back with a muffled whine catching in his throat.

"Jesus fuck," Tim gasps, moving them slowly. "I wonder if this is how the girls feel. So hot and - oh, fuck, tight, and if you do _tha-aht_. Oh my god, how do I get them in me deeper, _ah_..."

Tim has fingered himself before - bunch of times, actually, but this is so freaking different. Tim feels exposed to the point he can't do anything but whine every time his fingers slip away from his hole. He chases them desperately and in the heat of his arousal he feels like he will die if there would be nothing to fill him up in a way that is just this close to perfection.

And the fact that he can't see makes everything so much more intense. He doesn't know how he looks right now, and still he feels gorgeous and tempting and just - beautiful. It's new, and he lets himself drown in that feeling and the feeling of the fingers rubbing the same place inside of him over and over again, until he is crying and his toes curve, sliding against the cold floor, and everything _stops being enough_. Tim is not sure it has _ever_ been enough.

Tim bites his lip hard sliding another finger beside the two that are already deep inside of his ass. His hand hurts for doing it in such position, but still he does his best to fuck himself on his fingers. His spit is not that much of a lube to do it properly, but Tim likes it rough anyway. They are sliding in and out of him, stretching the walls; Tim aches for the pain and the pleasure it gives him at the same time, until he whines and everything becomes bright before his eyes despite the black tie blocking his vision. Tim shakes over the heat down his belly and the way his overstimulated body reacts to any touch. Tim palms his cock, rutting against his hand once, twice, and then his ass clenches tight around his fingers the moment he comes, his cock throbbing against his stomach. 

"Oh god," he says breathlessly. "I feel so fucking full and I think my wrist might be broken."

He slowly eases off from his fingers, trembling at the feeling of cold air and sudden emptiness. He takes few moments to try and collect his breath and then he finds his phone and lays it flat on the table, blocking the camera. 

World around seems surreal when he takes the blindfold off and settles it on the table. Tomorrow he'll be wearing the same tie, remembering what he have done with the help of it. Not enough of revenge, but god, is this satisfying, at least.

He rearranges his phone to look at the things people have written to him, and, well.

"This guy is giving me blue balls", he sees on the screen and laughs quietly.

"Well, this is bad for your health, man," he tells, sitting properly and taking the tissues from the table to wipe his stomach. "You should try prostate massage or something."

***

"You seem calm," Damian says suddenly.

Tim jerks his head up from utility belts he has been working on improving for last half of hour to look at him.

"Yeah. And?.." he asks, arching up his brow.

"Nevermind," Damian answers after a few moments and turns to his suit with puzzled look on his face.

They do not exchange any words after that, and Tim is okay with it, though it is kind of strange that Damian has been so silent around him lately.

Tim thinks that Bruce must have talked with him about acting like an actual human being. And Damian for a change must have listened.

Nevertheless something inside his mind tells him that it can't be just that. But Tim has enough going on to bother himself with the magic turn in Damian's attitude.

Alright, actually, it does fucking bother him. 

Yeah, he might be calm, but not so damn calm that he somehow stopped wanting to break Damian to shattering pieces and to crawl under his skin and wreck him for treating Tim like garbage and all that followed. It's childish and irrational, but Tim almost misses their fights and the way he felt after every harsh word and harsh hit and the rage in Damian's eyes that was only his to collect.

Tim misses the anger that was ripping of the remains of kindness from his body. Tim misses the way he felt strong and powerful every time Damian made him furious enough, and that is not something he can work out through his newly found hobby.

Tim misses feeling alive and imperfect and existing in the world he could never reach no matter how hard he tried.

But Damian is not even looking at him, like something prevents him from doing so. Tim wonders if he is just imagining the slight blush on his ears or the way he seems tense around him.

But he doesn't have time to think about this properly cause Stephanie rushes in the Cave, hugging Tim so tightly he coughs comically, smile on his face wide and sincere. Cass follows her, looking satisfied with the outcome of the mission Bruce sent them on a month ago.

"You won't believe what we have dealt with, Timmy," Steph says, her mouth opening like she is screaming her lungs out cause of her excitement. "It's like we were in one of this action movies Grayson adores so much! Except I am not bold and Cass doesn't have a mexican beard. But there were secret organizations and sharks and explosions, can you imagine it?"

"She didn't," Cass adds with a small smile on her face. "She didn't look at the explosions."

"Yeah, I well freaking didn't!" Steph grins. "I was cool as the iceberg they tried to cage us in, those stupid bastards! Though the back of the suit was ruined, fried like a turkey, but that was so-o worth it."

"It was fun," Cass nods and looks at Tim, curiosity in her eyes. "You good?"

"I am amazing," Tim grins, hugging her as well.

"Yeah, except that one time he almost killed me and crushed his room beyond recognition," Damian mutters from where he stands, not turning to face them.

"Like I said," Tim shrugs, smile still wide on his face. "A-ma-zing."

Cass giggles at them, and Steph looks at Tim in that particular way he just knows he will either tell her _everything_ that have happened while she was away or die.

"Come on," Steph shakes off that expression and tugs him towards the exit. "Let's go in your room so we can tell you just how amazing we were before Bruce shows up demanding full-on boring report. And you, grumpy? No need to be so jealous about other's awesomeness. Bad Damian, bad."

" _Did she just_?" Damian asks, turning with horror in his eyes just to see Steph sticking her tongue at him. "Oh, for the love of god. I am supposed to be the youngest and therefore the most childish here, woman."

"And you are really bad at it, so let the elder handle this for you," Steph rolls her eyes, and, _god_ , Tim missed her.

"Sorry, little brother," Cass says, not looking apologetic at all.

"Just go," Damian breathes out, clearly in denial that he is stuck with such idiots as his family. " _All of you_."

"Aye, sir!" Steph says loudly and then they are disappearing behind the door to the secret hallway that leads up to the manor.

And Tim prays that Damian hasn’t heard what Steph has said the moment they stepped out of the Cave:

"Oh boy, when did his ass become so hot?"

***

"You did _what_? " Steph asks, awe in her eyes next to disbelief. "Let me see. Oh, no, I changed my mind, _never_ let me see. Remind me to delete this damn thing from my phone so there'd be no temptation."

"Well, it just kind of happened," Tim says, feeling the blush on his cheeks showing. "And people seem to love... _it_."

"Of course they do, you dumbass. I mean, have you seen yourself?" Steph grins. "God, I knew you were obscene deep down your pretty soul, but this. Oh my."

"Can you," Tim asks, feeling the strange mix of pride and embarrassment. "Can you stop?"

"You, kinky bastard," Steph shakes her head. "I just. I can't believe it. Where have all this been when we were dating, huh?"

Tim whines pathetically.

"Steph. _Please_."

"Alright, alright, just don't do this sound. Ever again. I mean it." She shoves at his shoulder. "Okay, so what is up with you and the Demon Brat, anyway?"

"Nothing _unusual_ ," Tim shrugs, and for whatever reason he is not so relieved by the change of topic. "Damian is a dick. I am bad at repressing my emotions. Though he got off my back after that incident."

"Maybe he has finally grown u-... Hey, wait a second. You sounded almost disappointed about it, didn't you? I wonder _why_. Come on, Drake, just spit it out," she jumps of his bed, standing in front of him with her arms crossed. And now Tim remembers why he _hates_ her. She is probably the only one in the family who is always mercilessly asking him just the right questions.

"He acts strangely," he admits not so willingly after a few minutes of a really intense staring at each other. "I don't know, it's almost like he is embarrassed to be around me? I didn't even hit him that hard for him to treat me like I am a _fucking nothing_."

And that is it, Tim understands as soon as the words fly out of his mouth. It hits him, and he is so not happy with this revelation.

Cause the way they were always fighting - that was his way to know that Damian acknowledged his presence, even though they have always been on the bad ground. 

He was as desperate for Damian's attention as he was for Bruce's. Like that little rivalry of theirs somehow made him Damian's equal. Someone _worth_ fighting.

And now he is not.

"Hm," Steph hums, dragging him out of his miserable thoughts, and what she says next suddenly changes everything. "Did you say it was Damian who told you about the app in the first place?"


	2. what if he is watching me right now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took a little bit longer that I hoped but  
> I have an excuse  
> I am allergic to editing
> 
> sooo things go south, Tim has a new case and Damian - well, Damian is still suffering

So, it appears Damian has watched one of his videos. Maybe more than one, and now he is either confused or disgusted with seeing this side of Tim he wasn't aware of existing. Knowing Damian's inability to permit himself any kind of pleasure due to his upbringing and judgmental nature, it must be the latter.

Tim spends the next couple of days watching Damian and ends up noticing all the things he was, apparently, to blind to see earlier.

For one, the way Damian stares at him when he thinks Tim is not watching. Like he is trying to find evidence that it indeed was Tim he saw during those indecent translations. Or maybe he is just silently sending the waves of disapproval in Tim's direction. 

And whenever they do make eye contact, which is rare, but still happens since they live in the same house, Damian is biting the inside of his cheek. And this, Tim decides, may be a sign that Damian wants to say something - awfully offensive, of course - about Tim's other nightly activities, but he is still not sure if this accusations of his have any ground. And even Damian is not that much of a dick, at least, not anymore.

There is also something dark and unreadable in Damian's eyes, which Tim supposes to be disappointment due to lack of other options. Tim wonders, for how long it has been there (and he has not noticed).

And also he becomes really freaking angry when he gets the whole picture.

This little shit must be _dying_ to kink shame the hell out of Tim. But he can't believe that somebody like Tim could have courage to film porn with himself on regular occasions (or something like that).

And if he discovers that it in fact _is_ Tim, what will follow? For some reason Tim is pretty sure that Damian will start to treat him like street garbage. And, oh, hell to the no and fuck him very much.

Nevertheless Tim forces himself not to jump to the conclusions since it's not in his nature. No, first he gathers the information and then he analyzes it and then he comes up with the most logical and believable theory. Yeah, _that_ is what Tim does.

So, Damian keeps his distance during patrols when they are paired up (for fucks sake, it's not like his sexual habits are spreading through the air). Damian's gaze lingers on Tim's spine and that gives him shiver when he walks to the showers after they are done for the night. Maybe Damian is observing him for clues as well. He will think about that later. 

But after Tim turns on the water, he realizes that Damian stopped joining him in the showers though it was not a problem when he was younger.

And then Tim remembers why _he_ stopped joining Dick in the showers when he was Damian's age.

Oh, no. 

There is no freaking way Damian has become attracted to him. Though, even thinking about the possibility of such turn for some reason does things to Tim he wasn't aware he could feel at that level. But that would be really dumb of him to consider this option seriously, wouldn't it?

And - Tim is still furious with what he supposes Damian thinks about him. Tim is also not a nice person at all. So Tim jerks himself off in the showers to the thought of Damian being just around the wall and - maybe - listening. 

But it's the thought of Damian being there, watching him with his intense dark eyes, pupils blown, hands tight and blush on his cheekbones, that makes Tim come in his fist hard and loud and embarrassingly quick. It's the thought that Damian might desire him for what he is, not for what he pretends to be.

All this provides Tim with a new kind of excitement that is almost impossible to handle.

And reality is cold and harsh on his still wet skin and soul for one blissful moment poisoned with hope, when he goes back to the Cave just to find that no one is there.

Nobody will ever desire him, Tim knows, shouldn't let himself forget about it.

Cause he is a broken boy with cracks in his heart and ice in his blood and this is the way it has always been.

He can't allow to fall in such delusional thoughts, no. And he can't be obsessing over a man who means nothing to him (he tried that once and his whole life went in pieces).

Tim feels empty and lonely and worthless, and it is easy to remember he can still feel angry to.

This bastard has no idea who he is messing with.

***

The package arrives just in time - and it feels sinful to use it now that he has some things on his mind that go beyond physical pleasure.

He takes the box from the mailman and carries it through the house like it is some kind of treasure. And in a way it is.

Damian stops near his room, looking at Tim passing by the hallway.

"What's this?" he asks, and Tim shrugs indifferently. It's easy to act cold and composed with the rage still warm in his chest. He has always taken certain satisfaction in doing so.

"Just some parts for my computer," he answers calmly. "Was waiting for them to arrive for two weeks now, and, well, here they are."

"-tt- Free me of your nerdy chatter, will you?" Damian mutters, shutting the door behind him.

Tim lets himself smile with his lips only, fully aware of how the thing inside a box is not even _a little_ bit nerdy. 

He opens it in his room, struck by the way it looks exactly what he has expected it to be. This being a long and slender beautiful black dildo he bought online two weeks ago.

Tim takes it in his hand, fingers sliding along the smooth black curves. It looks perfect, and it is hard to put it back in the box for the time being.

And then he just had to pretend this day is no different from the others.

He finishes the papers for the next company meeting, sorts all information about newly formed gangs for Bruce to analyze easily, eats his dinner, works out for a few hours, until it's late already and he has no need to pretend anymore.

The emptiness he still feels eating him from inside tells him that tonight going to be one of those times, something in his chest clenching and hurting already.

Tim spends a huge amount of time in the shower preparing. He tries to finger himself without so much of a sexual context, and still he ends up with his mouth wide and pleasure gathering somewhere in his throat, hot water pouring over his body, his forehead pressed to the wet wall and his knees fully shaking.

He doesn't touch his cock even once, though. In fact, he doesn't intend to do so later as well.

The thought of coming just from fucking himself on the toy itself is enough for him to grow hot with arousal. 

Tim leaves the shower, feeling weak and on the edge at the same time. He does not have strength to put on a towel, and the cold air is almost enough of distraction for him to put his mind back together.

Tim puts the toy on the table so it was visible on the video. There is a certain sickness in his stomach that doesn't go away yet (Tim knows he is going to fuck it out of his system, but that doesn't makes him feel any better; the opposite of it, actually).

And then, before he loses his guts about it, he starts the translation.

"Hey," he says in the voice he uses for work, calm and collected. He can't show his nervousness just yet. "So, I was thinking about this for a very long time - you know, I have never put anything bigger then my fingers inside of myself. Not to say I wasn't wishing for it not to be only my fingers. That I didn't felt empty and unsatisfied and eager for more. But today is gonna be different."

Tim slides his fingers from the base to the tip of dildo, enjoying the way it feels against his skin. Then he lifts it up and brings it closer to camera so that his audience could have a better look at it.

"This was delivered to me this afternoon. A lot of time has gone wasted until this very moment. Huh, but I did my best with waiting, didn't I." Tim turns the chair a little on the right and settles the dildo on the seat, fixating it in place by the sticky base and then continues. "Now, the joke for those of you that live in Gotham. It is actually called "black caped crusader" by the developers, so. It would be like _Batman_ is fucking me."

"Batman's would have been much bigger, man", someone writes and Tim giggles.

"Yeah, I suppose. Well, let's say it is the _younger_ version of Batman. Batman _the Junior_ , hah? Works for me." Tim says it seemingly mindlessly, but there is a reason for this particular choice of words, actually. 

Tim wishes for Damian to die of embarrassment if he is watching the video right now. And after that Tim doesn't have any desire to think about Damian any longer.

He pours lube on the dildo, spreading it to the base with fast and methodical movements. It will do, he decides, before grabbing the chair for support and slowly lowering himself on the toy, smooth tip rubbing against his already worked up hole. His thighs are trembling when it enters him, sliding in easily inch by agonizing inch. It feels like the best kind of torture, his hands clutching at the chair behind him in his attempts not to lose balance. He can't get all of it inside at the first try, so he lifts his body then lowers it again. There is a familiar sting in his muscles after repeating these motions over and over again.

His ass feels so full and stretched, and with every movement the dildo pressures on all the right places making him bite his lip and repress whines forming deep in his throat.

"It's so fucking _good_ ," Tim breathes out, when he manages to full on seat on this wicked thing, his knuckles white from gripping at the chair with all force he has. 

He lets himself get used to this overwhelming feeling, steadying his breath and trying to calm his nerves, which is impossible now that he has started. Tim feels like he is _burning_ , slight hints of pain only drawing him further.

"I..." he mutters, rolling his hips desperately, not being able to hold back anymore. "God, I can't talk, I ca-"

This time he does make the most embarrassing sound, one of his hands flying to his mouth at the same time as he continues thrusting his hips back and forward in one neverending motion. It's enough for him to completely lose his sanity, but it's _not_ enough at the same time.

Tim bites at his fingers, muffling all the screams and the moans crawling out of his mouth. His movements become rougher, harder, as he chases his pleasure like a madman. As he chases the thought that it's okay for him to have this, that's it's not wrong to want it, that he _deserves_ to have it.

His cheeks are wet with tears, his legs are shaking, as he arches his back to get better angle. And he realizes that he is close to crying, messed up emotionally as well as physically, so he looks down to the screen, expecting - more like needing - for something to take the edge off, to fix things in his mind at least for just now.

"You feel like art", he sees, and rolls his hips, his cock laying against his stomach flushed and neglected and leaking all over.

"The way you move is obscene and breathtaking and shouldn't be allowed", he sees, and his belly goes tight, the heat in his body becoming unbearable.

"I wish I could touch you and bring you out of this sorrow", he sees, and he is so close now, still holding back, still not allowing himself things that he craves, things that he wants so bad and still can't have.

"I am positive you are not reading this right now."

"You look beautiful when you refuse yourself the pleasure you deserve to have."

"I don't understand it."

"But what I do understand is that you look the most beautiful when you let yourself come."

And so Tim does.

***

Tim feels really strange afterwards. Yes, he is obviously sore and tired and worn out, both with his body and his mind, but something is bothering him, though he can't quit make it.

So the next day he blows the shit out of his new toy, trying to deep throat and rutting against the chair while doing so, arousal striking through his nerves every time he gets it so deep it makes him choke, until his jaw is raw and hurting, throat sore and wet with saliva, voice hoarse and sweatpants slick with come, and yeah. It doesn't help to figure out the reason of his confusion _at all_.

Tim lets his mind wander a lot more he usually tends to, but it doesn't interfere with his work anyway.

So it's a surprise for him to hear Damian clicking his tongue in visible displease with his behavior during the dinner.

Tim stares at him, with the spoon comically sticking from his mouth (the one he was gently sucking at for last five minutes, being caught in his thoughts).

"What is wrong?" Tim asks Damian, frowning.

"There is no need to annoy us with your oral fixation while we eat, for God's sake." Damian mutters.

Tim just keeps staring at him, and Damian blushes under his gaze and turns back to his plate, starting to eat his food really furiously.

And that is how Tim _knows_.

***

Tim is not sure what he is trying to accomplish with this, but he needs his answers.

"I am taking your requests tonight," he says, feeling a little bit nervous. "I want you to tell me what to do."

It sounds like he is talking to all of them, but in fact he is referring to the one certain man, who he was so sure hated his guts not so recently.

There is no play in his today's translation, he is in his worn out black shirt and pajama pants, and his hair is a mess after the quick shower. And still he is more looking forward for what will come of it then he has ever been.

"Show us your pretty face" and "why don't you give us a little more skin" and "I want to see cum on your lips lol" he just ignores, patiently waiting. He is almost sure he was wrong when another message pops up on the screen:

"Remember this time you were pleasuring yourself on your bed after crushing your room beyond recognition?"

The choice of words is unmistakable, Tim can recall Damian saying exact same thing to Steph and Cass not so long ago - apart from the "pleasuring" part, of course.

"Yeah," he answers, eyes intense on the screen. "I remember."

It's hard to find must-be-Damian's respond in the bunch of messages, but not impossible, and Tim feels dizzy the moment he reads it:

"You were angry with someone."

"I was," he manages to say. It's hard not to let his nervousness show, but he tries still. "And?"

Must-be-Damian makes him wait for almost a minute again, but it's worth it. Tim actually rereads it three times before his brain can process this.

"I want you to be angry with them again."

And Tim is just staring at the screen and forgetting to blink properly. 

"Why?" he asks finally, because he really needs to know, but there is no respond anymore. So Tim claps his hands over gleefully and smiles at the camera like a movie star. "Okay, I guess we have a winner!"

It's easy to get angry with Damian now - brat always does what he wants to, uncaring about other's needs and desires. But this, tonight, it hasn't been about Tim from the very start. And Tim doesn't want to get angry, not yet, at least. But he knows ways to get at Damian's nerves, and that is what he is going to do.

"Well," he says, fingers brushing against his lips as he bites at them. "Let me think, _huh_."

He gets up, turning his back to the camera, and goes to the nightstand beside his bed, his hips swaying just a little. Just enough, he knows, in the way that suits him.

He takes lube, pouring a small amount on his hand. His cock is half hard now; it's shape showing under the thin fabric of his pants. Tim tugs them down his hips, smearing the slick lube over his cock, from the head to the base, stroking a few times and feeling it hardening in his hand. He puts the waistband of his pants up again, their front getting wet from the lube slowly.

"I am ready," he says, turning back to the camera and walking to his chair slowly. "You know, I used to get my underpants wet like this just with my precome back in the days. When I was a teen, obviously. Growing up in the house with a bunch of attractive people does that to you, especially if you are not really related."

He sits down before his phone, palming himself through the damp fabric and exhaling slowly. It feels almost like someone's mouth is nursing his cock, warm and welcoming, waiting for him to thrust in deeper.

"So, I have a brother. He is not actually my brother, I am adopted. But you know how it goes with siblings - you fight and hate each other mercilessly and you would kill anyone who tried to hurt them. Cause it's _your_ right to hurt them. And you tell yourself this is the only reason. Not like you care anyway."

Tim breathes in before pushing at his hand hard and hesitantly.

"Well, with us it was not different. He is the worst. I hate his guts. He tries to murder or humiliate with every chance he can get. And the world keeps spinning."

Tim rolls his hips forward. And then he does it again. And again. And _again_. And he can’t remember why he should stop at all, can’t bring himself to care. It’s Damian’s ridiculous face that he sees, his angry eyes and perfect cheekbones, and this violent mouth that does things to him even when it is not supposed to be sexual. Tim is fucked, he is well aware of that, he should be teaching Damian a lesson, not picturing him on his knees, biting the inside of Tim’s thigh and smiling wickedly, looking up at Tim with the same devilish fire in his eyes he tends to have when they are fighting. He really should not be picturing this – but it is the most arousing thing Tim can think of right now. Words keep forming in his mind, and he tries to figure out the right ones, thrusting in his hand ( _Damian’s_ hand, rough and calloused, but strangely gentle, his touches keeping Tim just on the right side of almost enough). Tim manages a steady rhythm that is agonizingly slow, slow to the point he can force himself to return to the talking.

"Until it's not like that anymore," Tim says finally, doing his best in looking puzzled. "Why would I want to get angry at the man who has grown up and stopped messing with me entirely? The thing is for the last three weeks my brother has been so well behaving that it's _sickening_ me."

Tim licks his lips and shuts his eyes, his heartbeat increasing so much that it hurts, but he can’t back off, he must be right anyway, he is Tim fucking Drake, he is _never_ wrong. Nevertheless this whole situation makes him feel sick and vulnerable and helpless, Tim hates every second of it, he truly does. And still:

"Maybe I do have a reason to be angry," he breathes out and every single word he says after that feels like the drumbeat getting louder in his head. "What if my little not so much of a brother found this somehow? What if he was watching me days by days? What if for some reason he didn't quit after he has known it was me indeed? With me not knowing. Without a permission. _What if he is watching me right now?_ "

Tim stops his movements entirely, his breath catching up in his throat. It's a pity they can't see his eyes, cause they tell more then he can with his voice.

"God, I should be angry," he shakes his head, forbidding himself to continue touching his aching cock. He removes his fingers from his body entirely, gripping the table, though it almost hurts to do so. And then he manages a surprisingly sincere, broken smirk. " _But I am not._ "

Tim considers his next words for a minute, but it can't get worse than that anyway, so he places his hands on his knees, before leaning to the camera.

"I will come with your name on my lips, if you call me right now. You know where to find me."

And with that, he has no way back anymore.

***

Anxiety fills Tim up the moment he ends the translation. He could have miscalculated. Or he could have been right and he has no idea whether is scarier.

Cause if that is Damian who talks to him during the translation - it might be just a game for him. Damian can be cruel if he wants to. Yes, he has outgrown his hunger for violence; he has changed so much since he was just an angry and twisted child, but-

He has stayed almost the same with Tim. They have both benefited more in being enemies than friends. Tim has gotten his attention. As for Damian, he has fulfilled his need to prove his worthiness.

He might have claimed otherwise, but Tim knew that Damian considered him his equal. 

He _did_. 

Tim is not so sure he does anymore, and it shouldn't feel that devastating, he shouldn't let anybody shatter his confidence, but it's not about that even.

Tim can't put it in words, but it's not about sex either. 

It is about feeling safe. Feeling home. Feeling that for one fucking time he belongs somewhere _unconditionly_.

And Tim still can get angry, can defend his dignity, can repay Damian for whatever hell he would try to put him through. But Tim can't stop feeling empty. And for those brief moments when Damian talked with him through his translations, he didn't.

Tim feels cold and he feels miserable and the night covering his room holds no mercy for him.

He tries to distract himself the way he always does, rooting for his rational side. He thinks that no matter what choice Damian will make, they will still talk like grown up people, even if he will have to chain Damian to do so. And whatever comes out of this, Tim will manage, Tim will adopt, Tim will make this as right as the wrong could get.

Tim plans and calculates and analyzes every outcome that might happen. But the fear clawing around his stomach never goes away.

Until the screen of his laptop lightens, indicating incoming call. Tim freezes for a second, looking at Damian's name. And then he receives it.

***

"Hello," Damian says after a few moments of silence, his voice unreadable.

Tim says nothing in return, still terrified with what Damian might say.

"It feels ridiculous," Damian mutters. "We live on the same floor. This should be eye-on-eye conversation."

"Yes," Tim offers. He can't make what Damian's attitude towards this is, so he says nothing else. Tim is good with waiting, even if panic is crawling up his throat.

"But I suppose you have no desire to look me in the eyes after what you have known," Damian continues, his voice tense. "So let us just get through with it, sooner the better. You can begin now, Drake."

And Tim just frowns and looks at the screen. Damian is either being rude, as usual, or trying to play bold. Both options are extremely offensive in current situation, and honestly Tim has been expecting more from Damian for some damn reason. Really stupid of him.

"Excuse me?" Tim asks after a few moments, puzzled to the point he actually forgets that he has had anxiety. "I can begin _what_ , exactly?"

"Are you playing dumb with me?" Damian sounds annoyed and strangely embarrassed at the same time. "There is no need in your act since you have no audience. You can begin with your displease about my behavior. I can take it. I deserve all the consequences."

Oh.

_Oh._

That Tim should have predicted. 

And the feeling that warms its way through his fears, the feeling Tim has refused himself on different occasions, but allows to grow this time - Tim hates it, cause hope be damned, he does not deserve hope.

And still. 

"Damian," Tim starts, name warm on his tongue no matter what he tries to tell himself about it. "I do-"

"How long have you been aware of this?" Damian suddenly interrupts, not letting Tim to finish.

For heaven's sake, and Tim thought he had problems.

"Of what?" this question is unfair, but it was Damian's fault he just couldn't listen. Tim's voice is calm and unaffected when he continues. "Be more specific, if you please."

"For the love of god. Me. Watching you," Damian mutters, and Tim can sense insecurity he tries to cover with annoyance.

It's a familiar ground, teasing Damian and getting him out of his comfort zone. Tim can deal with this as well as he can pretend his heart is silent and his soul is healed and he has no need aching through his bones. 

So he pushes harder:

"Watching me _when_? I don't think I am following you right now, babybat."

He expects Damian to furiously dodge the question and mumble his apologies before hanging off, since that seems to be his intention at the first place, but-

"Watching. You. Jerking off," Damian answers instead, pointing out every word, and Tim just kind of freezes at that. Damian never swears, well, not like that, and Tim feels heat gathering down his belly just because of those words falling from Damian's lips. Damian sounds unsure, taking his defense almost immediately. "What? Isn't it how you are calling it? Satisfied now?"

Tim has no idea what drives him to do this, but maybe it's just the mental picture of Damian dirty talking the death out of him with this intense and vicious voice. Damian saying "fuck". Damian saying his name.

"Satisfied?" he says, his voice slightly changing. "What do you think? Didn't you watch the show?"

"The whole point of this conversation is me watching your show," Damian clicks his tongue. "What do _you_ think?"

"Well then," Tim tries to smile, but this takes a lot more courage than showing off in front of the strangers. "Let's talk, shall we?"

He knows Damian can't see and it is wrong on so many levels, but he can't help but feel aroused again. 

"You've never answered my question," Damian reminds him, his voice dry and unreadable again.

Tim ignores that, asks his own instead:

"How many have you watched?" 

"I didn't count," Damian answers after a few seconds, probably, deciding that he owns Tim this, at least.

"When have you found out it was me, then?" this is cruel, but Tim can't afford having mercy on Damian now. He feels as if he stops asking questions he will never get any answers. And for a man with a mind like his it is the worst kind of torture.

"That time after our last fight," Damian admits not willingly, not giving Tim any details at all.

So he just has to drag them out of him.

"So you have watched me even before that," Tim says.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"-tt- What is it, an interrogation?" Damian mutters, still overdefensive.

"It is called conversation, brother," Tim smiles. "I'm going to turn my camera on now."

He can feel Damian's surprise at that.

"Why? So that humiliating me becomes easier?"

"No. So that I could keep my earlier promise to you," Tim says, clicking at the camera sign to start a video. 

"What?" Damian asks, puzzled. "Your promise?"

"I recall making one to you not so long ago. You called so you have completed your part of a deal. It's time for me to do mine."

His cheeks are slightly flushed, pupils blown and his whole body visible when he settles the laptop on the bed, sitting before him. Whole of his body, including his obvious by now erection.

Tim feels fear striking at his nerves again, because Damian says no shit to him for a solid two minutes. But when he does speak, his voice is raw and hoarse:

"Would you like to see me as well?"

But no matter how hard Tim wants to finally know for sure, he is not ready to wreck the illusion.

So he says: 

"Not yet."

And bites at his fingers, palming his cock through the fabric before thrusting in his hand.

***

"How did you find it?"

"Colin sent me a link. Said he has told me there was porn - a joke, I suppose, I don't consider he was thinking I would actually watch it."

"But you did," Tim smirks, his breath unsteady already.

"Yes."

"And you... enjoyed it," Tim knows he is pushing it, but luckily Damian doesn't back down.

"I did," he agrees calmly instead.

"Why?" Tim asks, dragging his fingers along the base, scratching the skin a little.

"Because I have grown up, Drake. I am perfectly aware about the pleasures human body can provide."

"That's unexpected," Tim chuckles, circling the head of his cock slowly and squeezing it gently, before breathing out. "And?"

"And. He looked like... He looked like you." Damian suddenly admits, and Tim stops, eyes fixated at the screen.

"Go on," he urges him.

"-tt- You are gorgeous, Drake, and I am not blind. Yes, the thought of you excites me. And seeing someone close to you doing such obscene things has excited me even more."

" _Oh_ ," Tim exhales in surprise after a few moments, rolling his hips forward in his frozen hand in desperate and rough motion.

"You... Aren't you at least a little bit disgusted?"

"No," Tim shakes his head. "Continue."

Damian breathes out:

"Alright," and after that his voice becomes restrained and distant even. "I have been watching you since I was a kid. At first it was in sake of discovering your weaknesses. And then it... wasn't."

"You were watching?" Tim asks, strange feeling clenching in his chest.

"Have not you ever noticed?" Damian simply answers, and then it hits Tim.

"I... have not," he admits, his eyes wide and his heart somewhere near his throat.

"I see," Damian smirks, but with none of his usual confidence. "Well. The way you move when you fight, the way you talk, the way you behave around people, even the ones closest to you - I could sense the wrongness in that, but I didn't understand it."

Tim nods, rubbing the head of his cock lightly, not trusting himself to drag this for long enough without those little bits of control left.

"It was until you have started to become more and angrier with me. I was pushing it, I have to confess. It felt as you were showing me sides of you none of others could see. It was intoxicating, to say at least. It felt intimate and sacred and I craved every little change in your behavior whenever you let me."

Tim shivers at that, stroking himself rougher with every revelation Damian makes.

"But it was frustrating nevertheless," Damian sighs, sounding unaware of what his words do to Tim. "So I pushed harder and harder. I was cruel and violent and everything I didn't want to be with you. It's just... I didn't know any other way to see you as free and honest as you become when you are full with rage. And you are beautiful when furious."

"Were you the one who talked with me during the translations?" Tim remembers to ask, thrusting into his fist with despair he has no power to control anymore.

"I... _Yes_."

"Did you mean it?" 

"All of it," Damian says.

"Fuck, Dami," Tim gasps, squeezing his cock tightly. "You are... unbelievable."

"I am truly sorry," Damian tries to apologize, sounding startled.

"For making me come my brains out?" Tim can't help but laugh brokenly.

"For invading your privacy, actually," Damian slowly states, before smirking as well. " _That_ I am not sorry about."

"Brat." Tim grins, and then he can't take it anymore. "Your face. I want to see it. And... I want you to talk me through it."

Damian is silent for a few seconds, until a small window pops up on his screen. Damian looks... intense and flustered, blush on his cheeks and mouth shut tight, and he is so fucking beautiful like this that Tim actually can't breath for a moment, and his chest full on hurts when he thinks of how much he has not noticed. How could he not notice?

"You fight like fire, when you are led by emotions," Damian says, closing his eyes for a brief second. And when he opens them, there is so much in there that Tim can't handle. "But when you are doing this you are full on _arson_. I was overwhelmed when I understood it was you. That you were doing it thinking of me even if in not so positive way. So I kept watching, I kept doing it though I knew it was unfair to you. It simply was impossible to stop. But it became impossible to confront you like I used to, as well. Not when knowing how you look when your face is brightened with pleasure. How your lips can be stretched around not only your fingers. How your body arches when you are close."

"I am now," Tim quietly offers.

"Then... Can you," Damian swallows, nervousness on his face. "Can you come for me, Tim?"

Tim thinks - oh my god. Tim thinks - it can't be happening, not to him. But Damian is there, and he watches him with such hunger, and this is too much to endure.

His lips are parted, his hand is moving fast and it's nearly painful when he squeezes his cock for last time and breathes out:

"God, Dami," before coming so hard he can't feel his toes.

And when he opens his eyes again, the screen is empty and the call is ended already.

***

The floor is cold under his bare feet when Tim almost runs through the hallways to Damian's room. The mansion is silent, rest of the house busy with patrol, and when Tim stops near the door, he can't hear any other sound except the wind captured in the attic and biting its way out down the halls.

The house feels empty, like his own used to do. And it's dark and unwelcome and gives Tim shiver whenever he is left alone in it.

He is not alone now, but there is a tremble in his fingers when he considers knocking at Damian's door, his hand frozen two inches from it.

Even after everything Damian has said to him, Tim couldn't just full on believe it. It feels as if he knocks he will not get any respond. It feels like he is surrounded with ghosts all over again and nothing is real except his sorrow.

It feels like he had a great and fulfilling dream, but now comes time to pay for it.

What is he even doing here? What makes him think that Damian might want him like that, blood and bones, willing and warm body to have by his side?

Fuck this, Tim thinks, he has been falling down for a quite long time by now, and it can't get any lower from where he is standing. Well, technically, it can, considering the first floor and the Cave underneath them...

Oh, for heaven's sake.

"Dami," Tim calls, his knuckles gently hitting the door for a few times. "Will you... Will you let me in?"

The silence is all he gets, but Tim knows Damian - he thinks he knows - so he knocks one more time, before taking a guess.

"I am the one who should be embarrassed," Tim says, just to realize he is surprisingly not and that scares the shit out of him for a moment before he collects his breath. "Since you were the one who did the talking, it will only be fair if you let me explain myself."

Nothing. But Tim can swear he has heard a sound of footsteps, to quiet for an ordinary person to hear, cause Damian is just that good. And Tim by all means is not ordinary, so.

That must be a good sign.

"Damian," he says again, anxious and uncertain. "You know we need to talk about this one way or another. Please, babybat. Let us do that now."

Until Tim loses his nerve and the whole situation becomes too heavy for him to bear.

Begging is not something Tim is used to, but he is willing to start now and that scares him too. He needs to see Damian, he needs to know that he has not imagined that fire in his eyes, that all of this has truly happened, that Damian wants him as Tim has always ached for someone to.

The door opens before Tim can do something downright stupid about it. Damian is standing there, tense and nervous as well.

"Why have you come here?" he asks, looking down at Tim. It could have been intimidating if Tim has not known him enough to see it is not intend to be so.

"Why did you stop the call?" Tim offers his own question making Damian frown.

"What else did you want from me?" he asks in return, trying to sound indifferent and really freaking failing at it. "You have gotten your release, have not you?"

Tim's gaze lingers on his face, barely visible in the dark - and there is something in the way Damian looks like he is going to kill you even when confused that makes him want to smile or laugh even. The curve of his lips, though, makes Tim want to get hard again.

Tim lets his eyes slide down Damian's body when he remembers the reason he was in such rush to get here.

"I came, yes," he agrees with ease, perfectly aware of the blush that spreads down Damian's cheekbones for his choice of words. "And you, as I can judge from here, _did not_."

"Why would I?" Damian answers immediately, startled. He is glaring at Tim as if he wants to burn a hole through his face to make him stop talking. So much for Wayne's gloomy genes.

The question surprises Tim plenty, anyway.

"You have any other options about dealing with an obviously painful erection?" he asks almost in horror, because knowing this family... It could be yes.

“I was going to the shower,” Damian admits not willingly. “Cold water helps.”

“What?” Tim blinks.

“With enough will,” Damian explains, gritting his teeth, but not looking away even if he is obviously embarrassed to admit this. “If I wait long enough it will go away. I know from experience.”

Tim blinks again.

“Okay,” he slowly says after a few moments. “And you are doing this shit instead of the natural one because?..”

“I am not going to masturbate to the thought of you,” Damian enlightens him very quietly.

“Alright,” Tim tries to clarify. “So you do not want me after all?”

“I did not say that!” Damian frowns, hiding his face behind his palm.

“I am confused,” Tim shakes his head. “Have you ever jerked off on my videos?”

“Not after I have known they were yours,” Damian answers gravely, his blush spreading wider even though it seems impossible. Tim has no idea whether he wants to punch him in the face or to hug so tight his bones start to crack. This stubborn unbelievable dumbass.  
“Jesus,” Tim murmurs. “Sweet mother of fuck. Why?”

Damian doesn’t even try to answer, and he looks pained when Tim dares to reach his chest with his hand.

“Okay. Okay. Do you want me to touch you?” Tim asks soothingly, catching his eyes. “And I rely on your honesty here, brother.”

“Drake,” Damian starts, sounding helpless and hesitant.

“It’s alright, babybat,” Tim encourages him, something tightening in his chest with every word he says. “I just need to have your answers.”

“I… Yes. I do,” Damian’s voice is shaking when he breathes this out.

“Do you want me to kiss you, then?” Tim continues, calming him with the light touches, though it is hard for him to remain collected right now as well and his hands are shaking.

Damian just silently looks at him with these intense dark eyes before Tim can feel a hand on the back of his neck, fingers pressing a little at all the right spots for Tim to tilt his head back. His heart stops for a few moments, because he knows what could be done to him from such position if Damian meant harm to him.

Because Tim knows just how deadly Damian is. Because being touched by him is even worse than being killed by him now. Because everything is slow and careful and Tim feels like he is a _treasure_ , like he is worth of loving, and that hurts a lot (loving is a bad word to think about).

Because his eyes are wet the moment Damian bends down, kissing his forehead lightly, fingers ghosting through his hair.

“Can I?” Damian asks, lowering his head so his eyes were on the same level with Tim’s.

“Why in the hell are you still asking?” Tim mutters, trying to sound angry to distract himself from the intimacy of this.

Damian smirks, before reaching forward slowly, his lips barely touching Tim’s in a kiss so chaste and tender that it just does not feel right with all the tension they have both experienced. It does not feel right because Damian should be all sharp edges and violent words, Damian should be hating him even when making love to him.

It does not feel right because Tim does not have nerves to admit it does.

Tim pushes them forward, clutching at Damian’s t-shirt until they are behind the door. Their movements are still gentle to the point Tim cannot stand it, so he bites Damian’s lip fiercely, wraps his fingers under his chin, holding him tight and demanding now, before parting his lips and sucking at Damian’s, causing him to whimper. Tim smiles sharp against his mouth before deepening the kiss even further, making it raw and rough and all the things safe to feel in Damian’s presence.

Damian tastes like fire and desert, his mouth hot and dry. Tim shivers when Damian exhales shakily against him. And then Tim licks his lips, his tongue sliding between them (he lets a little moan at that, not planning on stopping any time soon).

“ _Drake_ ,” Damian groans breathlessly, turning his head to the side. “Why can’t you be decent for a few moments even?”

Because he is scared – Tim does not say. He instead presses his fingers at Damian’s throat, before biting near them and kissing his way up to Damian’s ear – wet and messy, Damian’s skin burning against his skin.

“Come on, babybat,” he whispers, feeling Damian shudder at the sound of his voice so hot and close. “You can do better than that.”

You can do better than me – he doesn’t say either.

Damian lays his palm on his lower back as a reward just a few moments later, tugging him closer and kissing him without any further doubt, with passion and fire Tim is used to dealing with through their fights.

And to his luck Damian is a _really_ great kisser.

***

In the dark of Damian's room Tim feels scared like he has never been before, not even at night on the streets of Gotham back when he was nothing, no one.

He felt fearless back then, didn't even think he had anything to lose, was not taking his life for value.

Bruce would have thrown him away if he had ever known how little Tim cared for staying alive out there. But Tim was the third one, so Bruce didn't try to look at him long enough to see anything except for his eagerness.

And when he did see, it was too late to fix anything.

Tim is not used to fear, but Damian tends to drag it out of him mercilessly – and also unintentionally, if the way he looks as stressed out as Tim is, if not even more, tells anything.

Damian. Stressed out. Wha-

Tim giggles against his cheek when he imagines what it must be like for the cold-blooded Master of Freaking Everything to feel scared like a tiny chicken.

Tim is a great little coward himself at the moment, but with Damian it feels so freaking ridiculous he just can't help but giggle again.

"What?" Damian mutters, self-conscience in his voice showing. He steps away, stopping all the small touches, and hell if Tim is just gonna let him do such cruel things.

"And who gave you permission to take your hands from me, exactly?" Tim raises his eyebrow, looking at Damian who tries not to blush and fails miserably.

Little bat loves being bossed around - that's almost surprising. Almost.

"Well, cat got your tongue or something?" Tim huffs when Damian still does nothing but stare down at him, eyes even more intense than before. "Don't be shy, Robin, it kind of ruins your reputation."

Tim will probably regret acting like this when the morning comes, but right now.

Right now Tim feels he could fuck himself senseless on Damian all night long without even taking a break when something in Damian's eyes darkens as he grabs his hand and drags Tim forward, catching him by his wrist. They stand like that in silence, tension almost visible in the air. Tim just glares at Damian, not feeling threatened at all by the difference in their heights and the way Damian holds him this close to snap a few bones and to break his hand if he decides so. 

Tim looks up at him, saying "I trust you" with his eyes only, saying "I _dare_ you". Damian blinks and the rage in his eyes turns to something that makes Tim stop breathing. That makes him remember the way Damian was watching him when Tim was too dumb to get it. Damian turns his gaze on Tim’s wrist, burning from his hold, pale skin bright even in the dim light. Damian traces the veins up with his finger, before lifting Tim’s hand up and biting near his pulse, not for a moment breaking their eye contact. 

"Better," Tim manages to say, his voice hoarse already, heat gathering in his belly when he understands that this will leave a bruise to last for a few days at least. Tim smirks, not ready to give in just yet. "Now do it again and like you mean it."

"Will you stop talking, for fuck's sake?" Damian growls, hardening his grip on Tim's hand and moving to bite his neck, leaving trail of wet and hungry kisses up his throat and god, why is this so hot? Why the fuck is Damian so hot?

Tim is pretty sure he can die from just that alone.

" _Come on_ ," Tim breathes out, dragging Damian up gently, so he could press his mouth to his ear and whisper messily. "You love me talking. If you'd let me, I'd spend the whole night just talking to you. Saying all this little things you deny yourself. How fucking beautiful you are. What you are allowed to do and what you are not. I would do this for hours, not touching you even once, and you would _shake_ at the lightest brush of my fingers by morning, skin sensitive and neglected to the point you will come from the simple _kiss_ to your stomach."

"Fuck," Damian swears, palming Tim's ass to bring him closer and kiss him desperately, all teeth and clumsiness like they are horny teenagers rubbing against each other in the gym locker.

Tim feels his head bumping at the wall and he wraps his leg around Damian's thigh the moment his back is sliding up the wall, Damian lifting him with ease that shouldn't be allowed in case anyone does not want Tim's brains to completely burn out.

He can't think straight, he can't think at all, grinding his hips against Damian's, his cock already hard again to the point it fucking hurts not to have anything touching him except the soft fabric of his pants and the hard pressure of Damian's thigh.

"Fuck," he whines, hitting the wall with his head again when he exposes his throat for Damian to damage it completely with his too skilled for someone who can't say "sex" without blushing mouth. "Fuck, babybat, have you done this with someone or are you just a freaking natural, huh?"

"Why?" Damian exhales, tugging at his earlobe with his teeth teasingly.

"You are too good in this," Tim confesses, his hips jerking forward again.

"I asked Brown," Damian says after a few moments very quietly, like he is scared of Tim's reaction. "To teach me some tricks."

"This asshead, I swear," Tim laughs, trying to catch his breath after. "Has not even bothered to tell me."

"I asked her not to," Damian admits gravely.

"You could have asked me," Tim says just to see the face Damian will make after hearing this.

"Oh, yeah," Damian huffs. "I am positive that would have gone very smoothly."

"I agree," Tim smirks, letting his hand to slide down their bodies to press at Damian's erection lightly. "That would have been so _hard_ for both of us."

Damian growls, hiding his face in the crook of Tim's shoulder. 

"You are insufferable," he mutters. "I can't believe you have ever managed to get this far with anyone."

"Don't sell yourself short," Tim grins, patting his head sarcastically. "I am charming, when I want to. I think it's the hair."

"Right," Damian murmurs, still not looking up at him. "You, from all people."

"My thoughts exactly," Tim says and push Damian away gently. "Now get on your bed, will you?"

***

Damian lies on his elbows, looking at Tim, who just stays near the bed, watching him. Damian seems uncomfortable suddenly, as if he changed his mind or something.

"Are you sure?" Tim asks him quietly. "About this? I will understand if you say no."

"Are _you_ sure?" Damian returns the question, shifting a little.

"Jesus," Tim sighs, hiding his face under the palm. "It will be a miracle if we ever get to fucking."

"I consider it a win we have managed the kissing," Damian smiles softly, and fuck, Tim will never get used to this expression on his face, that is for sure. Yes, Damian is hell of a gorgeous in his usual state, but his smile is just fucking breathtaking. 

"Yeah," Tim says after a while, forcing himself to have an actual human conversation instead of swooning over every inch of Damian he can make in the dark. "That deserves a golden star, if you ask me. Steph has plenty of those. Want me to go and grab them to make this more fun?"

Damian gives him his best "I will fucking end you, I swear" look. Oh, _right_ , Tim has already forgotten about the sexual frustration thing.

"Or I can just get on the bed and blow your brains out," he adds, placing his knees on the edge of the bed between Damian's spread legs.

"You... what?" Damian asks in horror, and Tim giggles. This time Damian takes it like a man - blushing again and trying to crawl away from Tim.

"Easy, brother. You didn't think I was just going to give you a handie, right?" Tim catches Damian legs, holding them firmly and grinning like a devil. It should not be such fun to tease Damian like this, but again, Tim is undoubtedly not a great person. Babybat should have known better than that.

"Why on earth do you keep calling me "brother" while we are intimate?" Damian groans, his head falling flat on the sheets when he buries his face in his hands.

"You seem to like it," Tim smirks. "Look me in the eyes and tell me otherwise, if you don't."

"Fuck you," Damian mutters, not moving from where he is laying.

"Be a good boy and you probably will," Tim innocently agrees, that only making Damian growl again. "Now, back to the Batman Juni-"

Damian suddenly throws himself up with something sounding like a roar, catching Tim by his shoulders, and drops him on the bed, turning them over. He pins Tim's wrists atop of his head, his angry stare the only thing Tim is able focus on right now.

"You are hot," Tim says, looking him straight in the eyes, his voice almost accusing. Any filter he had between his thoughts and his mouth is obviously gone by now. "When you are mad. Fuck, so hot."

"I knew you said that for a reason," Damian hisses still close to his face, not listening. "That whole show with... the caped crusader. I fucking knew it."

"That was fun," Tim admits, does not even try to lie. "Although I was thinking you'll be just embarrassed, not aroused, but you obviously had the whole package."

"And when exactly did you know?" Damian asks, squeezing his wrists harder. Tim can recall he has tried with this question already, but Tim was not sure how to answer that earlier. As for now, well.

"When Cass and Steph came back from their mission?" Tim starts, only his willpower helping him not to grind against Damian fiercely while talking. "You were not exactly subtle, you know? I knew something was off, just couldn’t figure the reason of it. And, well, I was whining to Steph about your odd behavior and she pointed out the obvious explanation, alright?"

"I don't understand," Damian frowns. "You didn't call me out on watching you right then. Why?"

"I thought you were disgusted with me," Tim explains. "Wanted to teach you a lesson. That have not worked out like I expected it to."

"Oh," Damian looks surprised for a few moments.

"You can’t blame me!” Tim claims, with a laugh dying in his throat. It must be something with his nerves after all the stress he`s been through the day because of this unbelievable dumbass. “I mean, have you seen your face? And it`s not like we had it all friendly, did we?”

Damian drops his forehead on his chest, his body shaking strangely against Tim. He mumbles something, but Tim can’t quite get it.

“What did you say?” he frowns, touching Damian’s hair warily. Tim feels bad all of a sudden, he did not mean to be that harsh on Damian, it was supposed to be a _joke_.

“I said,” Damian speaks louder, “I`m sorry I didn’t clarify my intentions.”

Tim blinks, falling silent for a few moments before he starts to suspect something.

“Are you laughing, you asshole?” he yells, kicking Damian in the stomach to get him off him. It works mostly because Damian lets him, falling next to his side. And Tim is so right – Damian’s grin is wider than the ocean at the moment, and he is not looking sorry. At all.

“Of course I am,” Damian huffs, wiping corners of his eyes with the side of his palm. “Just imagine me saying “oh, by the way, I want to have a sexual intercourse with you” over the breakfast.”

"That, actually, would be fun," Tim can't help but smirk too. "I mean, if Dick was there he would have end up crying and laughing under the table hysterically."

"Why would he cry?" Damian asks curiously.

"His little boy, his tiny Robin, all grown up now," Tim explains pathetically, stopping when Damian kicks him in his ribs. "Ouch!"

"It's not even funny," Damian complains. "But the face of the father, though."

"God," Tim chuckles, turning on his side to look Damian in the eyes. "I think I would jump your bones right there just to see Bruce that confused."

"I suppose you could," Damian smirks, putting his hand on Tim's hip, just holding it there, the weight of his palm calming for some reason.

And Tim looks at him, Tim suddenly thinks about how light-headed he feels, how warm, how - strangely - happy.

He is relaxed to the point he can allow himself to turn off his mind, his rational nature. Tim can just... exist in the moment that is not his only. In the moment someone shares with him.

Tim suddenly understands it is possibly the first normal conversation he has ever had with Damian. And it feels good, but hurts something inside of him at the same time.

"Your mind is drifting," Damian says quietly, reaching Tim's chick with his fingers gently. "Will you tell me where?"

"It is good. This. Just talking to you." Tim admits, feeling silly the moment these words leave his mouth.

"I rather enjoy this too," Damian confesses hesitantly before leaning forward and kissing Tim - slow and affectionate, like the first time, but it doesn't feel strange now. The tenderness of this is still overwhelming, though, Tim's breath is catching up in his throat.

"Fuck," Tim exhales, breaking the kiss. "You know, I still want to blow you."

"You make it sound even more obscene than it does already," Damian tries to act unaffected, but Tim is not going to buy any of this.

"Lay on your back," Tim commands, getting up, when the idea pops in his mind. "No, actually, go and sit on the edge of your bed."

"Why?" Damian asks, confused. Tim presses his palm hard against his abdomen, before he trails his fingers further, grasping at the belt of Damian's pants and jerking him closer.

"Because I told you to," Tim offers, stepping on the floor and getting on his knees. "Now I will be the only one talking, okay?"

Damian looks down at him in silence, but then nods, spreading his legs awkwardly and setting himself as comfortable as he can. His hands wander around in hesitation, but he decides to clutch at the sheets, panic obvious on his face.

"Relax," Tim asks, rubbing insides of his thighs gently. "I know what I am doing. And, actually, you know that too."

Damian lips twitch at this, but he does not say a thing, just exhales slowly and focuses his gaze on the wall in front of him.

"I was thinking about doing this ever since you have brought up the topic of my oral fixation," Tim tells him sincerely to distract himself from the fact that his fingers are fully shaking when he tries to open Damian's pants. "Because I actually do have one. Lift your hips up, please."

Damian does, letting Tim drag his pants down his knees with his underwear, his eyes never leaving Tim's face. His cock is so hard Tim has not even thought was possible, the head of it flushed and swelling already.

"Fuck, baby," Tim whispers, taking the shaft in his hand firmly, his mouth watering just by looking at it. "You are fucking _beautiful_. So worked up. Thinking about all this time you neglected yourself, god, Dami. You should not be ignored. You deserve to be fucking _worshipped_."

Tim bows his head and nearly purrs, rubbing his cheek against the long curve of Damian's cock. Damian clenches his hands in fists, tilting his head to the side.

"No, no," Tim asks him in a rush, lifting his hands to touch Damian's chin. "Dami, look at me. I need you to look at me."

Damian does as he has been said to. His gaze is intense and he almost looks like he is in pain, but he nods quietly, before Tim dares to continue.

"It's okay, Dami. I know you won't last long, not in the state you are in," Tim tries to calm him, though his brain is already not working at his finest. He kisses the head of Damian's cock, catches it with his lips, letting it lay on his tongue and not going further, just enjoying the feeling of it in his mouth, the salty taste of precome when he slides his tongue against it. Tim lets the tip slip from his mouth not willingly, but he needs to finish his talking. "I want you to come in my mouth, okay? I want you to watch me the whole time while we are doing it. I want you to... I want you to have control; you know I can take it. Your hands - hold me by my hair."

I want you to _never_ stop looking at me - Tim does not say, again leaving his ugliest thoughts to himself. It is what he feels like - ugly, when he allows himself to dream about something he will never have. Because he does not deserve it, because he is perverse and desperate and fucked up, and nobody should deal with it.

Because he wants Damian to use him now, so he could forget the way they touched each other and kissed each other, and the way Damian held him as if he somehow mattered.

This is not what it is, Tim tells himself, placing his hands on Damian's thighs again, looking up at him. This is not what it is, Tim tells himself, when Damian curls his fingers through his hair, tugging hesitantly. And all the thoughts leave his mind, when he opens his mouth wide, and Damian guides his head down slowly on his cock, as he has been told to. Damian watches him with concentration, as he has been told to.

He does not say a thing, too. And Tim knows he asked him not to, but it is unnerving nevertheless. It's easy to fall back into his fears and hesitations when Damian is silent.

Damian's face looks flat, emotionless, but the way he rocks his hips forward is gentle (how can he even keep it this slow), the way he lets his cock slide into Tim's mouth is calculated and steady, the weight of it heavy and hot on Tim's tongue, and still it is not enough. It is not what either of them needs right now.

The thing is - Tim wants it to hurt. The pain he knows well, learned to use it, learned to work his frustration through it.

It does not hurt - not physically, at least. Damian is careful and cautious to the point Tim grows sick of it. He jerks his head forward, taking half of Damian's cock in his mouth at once, holds it there, before moving further, letting it go down his throat. It opens easily for Damian's cock before clenching around it for a few times at the sudden intrusion. His gag reflex is long forgotten, but lately the only thing that entered his mouth was a piece of nicely shaped plastic, so. The sensation is overwhelming in a good way. He stays like that, cock buried deep in his throat for a solid minute, before he starts to feel light-headed at the lack of air. Damian's hands twist in his hair, and he does not make a sound, like he is afraid to, until Tim pushes back, his eyes shut and wet in the corners.

Tim does not mean to rush things, but it is impossible to go slow. His voice is raw already when he lifts his head, Damian's cock leaving his mouth with an audible pop.

"Like this," Tim manages, his fingers working Damian's cock from the base to the head, while he is talking. "I am not fragile. Just take your pleasure. Please, Damian. I need you to let go."

The sudden burn of his hair when Damian tugs him up is unexpected, but hot as freaking hell, the place Tim someday will become very familiar with, that's for sure. Damian kisses him openly the moment he can reach him, and it's messy and rough, with a fierce Tim has assumed was not there - and it feels good to appear wrong after all. Tim shivers when Damian licks his way inside his mouth, where his cock was just a seconds ago. His tongue is merciless, Tim forgets to breath while Damian devours his mouth, growling lowly.

It feels as if Damian tries to let out all the words he has been keeping in. As if he wants to show Tim how much every moment of this means to him. As if he needs to make Tim feel wanted and admired before they've gotten to the rough part of the scenario. 

Tim is not ready for any of this, but he whines in Damian's mouth, and he clutches at his shirt, trying to keep up with a fast and changing tempo his lips are moving, but he is failing. He can only relax and let Damian take whatever he wants from him (one more to his list of things he should not be so aroused by).

And then Damian pulls him away just as harshly, staring at his lips with something wild and dark in his eyes. Tim wants to tell him to go on, but his body does not listen to him anymore.

Damian exhales brokenly before sliding his thumb under Tim's chin, forcing him to open his mouth wider.

Tim manages to nod a little, his hands falling on the bed, and Damian blinks, before tugging his head lower and shoving his cock in Tim's mouth. The stretch in his throat is expected, but Tim cannot control it now, which makes it more vivid for him, more intense, more arousing.

Damian thrusts in his mouth fast and rough, holding him firmly. Tim's chin is already wet with saliva and he can feel tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. His throat burns, the rhythm of Damian's hips moving too rushed and spontaneous for him to get used to, so he chokes, losing his breath. Damian does not stop (Tim is _grateful_ for it), pushing deeper, until Tim bumps his nose at his abdomen.

Tim feels full, Tim feels wanted, Tim welcomes the burn in his lungs and the feeling of Damian's cock pulsing hot against the walls of his throat. He can come just from that, just from knowing that Damian's eyes have not left him for even a moment, that it is the sight of Tim taking his cock so nicely and willingly what makes Damian not even try holding on anymore.

Tim swallows around him, once, twice, before he can feel Damian coming down his throat, hot and messy, his fingers scratching Tim's scalp and hips jerking forward, hands holding his head firmly and with no way to escape it.

Tim squeezes his thighs, when there is too much to take at once, and Damian relaxes his grip immediately, letting Tim lift his head up, breathing harshly to get some air. Some of Damian's come lands on Tim's chin and mouth, making him moan in despair against the burning skin of the inside of Damian's thigh.

"That was a lot," he exhales, not recognizing his voice, and then he just licks Damian clean, his tongue sliding over his softening cock fast and sloppy, until Damian whines, pushing him away, not ready to take any more stimulation right now.

Tim leans his forehead to rest on Damian's stomach, coughing lightly and wiping the sperm off his face with his shaking palm. He is still hard, but it can wait, he knows how to prolong his pleasure. Not that it matters now.

Tim looks up at Damian, who seems completely wrecked, his lips bitten and face flushed, eyes empty and staring forward.

"You alright?" Tim asks huskily, before climbing up on his lap gracelessly and kissing his neck, face, everything he can reach hurriedly and affectionately, until Damian exhales against his mouth, long and harsh, his eyes focusing on Tim's face again. "God, that was..."

Damian opens his mouth, before closing it and frowning helplessly, and Tim almost forgets he told him specifically to stay silent. Damian is still so obedient that Tim feels scared for a few moments, before he remembers he has no right to be.

"Damian, you can talk now," he whispers in his ear. "It's alright. You have my permission. Are you okay?"

"I don't know," Damian says finally, his voice rough like he was the one deep throating the hell out of Tim. "Are you?"

"I am more than okay," Tim assures him. "Get back to your senses, okay? I will be right here. I won't go anywhere."

Damian nods shakily, holding Tim tight, like he is the only thing that keeps him breathing right now.

Tim allows him this, too tired to say or do anything else.

Tim allows himself this, relaxing fully in Damian's embrace.

It should not take long anyway, right?

***

Tim opens his eyes, waking up with Damian's hands tight around him. They are lying on Damian's bed now, close to the point that is not rational considering the size of said bed. His face is cleaned up, his throat is sore and everything inside of him becomes alert when he remembers how exactly he has ended up in this situation.

Damian sounds asleep, his room still dark around them, but in the way his muscles tense when Tim tries to carefully get away from him tells him that Damian is awake as well now.

"I'm sorry," Tim apologizes quickly, panic rising in his chest for no obvious reason. "I did not mean to fall asleep like this."

"It's alright," Damian mutters, not moving his head from the pillow. "But I see no point in wasting the poor amount of sleep that we have left."

"I should go," Tim offers, but Damian just blindly finds his wrist, squeezing it gently as if to make Tim stay where he is.

"No, you should not," Damian says then, annoyance in his voice becoming audible. "I cleaned you up as well as I could, and you are probably just as exhausted as I am."

"Yes," Tim agrees, but he is still hesitant about what he should do, and that must have shown in his intonation. 

Because Damian rolls his head to his side, watching Tim with a gaze so irritated it gives him shiver. Damian looks younger when he is angry, and that are surely not the circumstances to think about this.

"Dra... Tim. Please, get back in the bed." Damian asks patiently, but it's still sincere, Tim can feel it. And nevertheless... "Can we discuss everything comes morning? I want you to stay, okay?"

"You do?" Tim repeats after him dumbly, feeling warm inside against his will all over again.

"I called you by your name and I said "please"." Damian rolls his eyes at the look of total disbelief on Tim's face. "Yes, I do, for god's sake."

And the best Tim can come up with is an unsure nod and quiet "then I'll stay", which he says mostly to reassure himself.

But the air is frosty, and Tim has always gotten cold easily, and Damian is warm like a big gloomy heater, and.

Okay. Morning be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter will mostly be about those idiots trying to talk it out and failing (obviously)
> 
> because f e e l i n g s
> 
> (feelings are batfamily's cryptonite, I can asure you)


End file.
